“You know, you could have been together,” Evan says, buried deep in thoughts, looking at Regulus who’s been basically licking James’ face for three minutes now.
Barty’s head turns to him, clearly startled. “What?”
“Regulus liked you for ages. For all his confidence, he didn’t know how to act around someone who doesn’t wear their heart on their sleeve. And you know Regulus, he’d rather run than fail.”
Barty shakes his head. It doesn’t matter. He never really liked Regulus anyway, not in a romantic sense.
It doesn’t fucking matter.
“Why would I be with him? That would complicate our friendship, don’t you think?” Barty doesn’t want it to come out all bitter, but it happens. It’s probably because he is aware that he’s incapable of staying friends with Regulus.
How the fuck is he supposed to act around him now? He shouldn’t be flirting with him with each sentence, but he barely remembers any other interaction between the two of them.
Evan lets out a soft laugh. “Don’t act as if you weren’t willing to throw away your friendship for the sake of snogging him.”
Barty shivers at the word -snogging- it’s odd, almost as if it had a slime-like consistency. “I’m not. Me and Regulus? That would never work out. It’s for the best that he found someone who reciprocates his little crush.”
“Sure,” Evan sighs, dropping his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. “I’m going back inside. And so should you.”
“Thanks Ev,” Barty sneers. As if Evan had a clue. He doesn’t know shit. And neither does Regulus.
Barty finds himself silently hating his friends. Hating this party -why did he come to this fucking party in the first place? He wants to go back to his dorm, but he’s been here for thirty minutes so people will talk if he gets up and leaves.
There is no reason for him to leave anyway. It’s a party like any other, nothing’s changed.
He stands there chainsmoking. Alone, definitely not hoping Regulus would come because that would be childish. He knows the boy isn’t coming.
There is too much alcohol in his system for him to think properly, but not nearly enough to stop the miserable feeling in his chest. Perhaps if he got drunk enough… No, nothing would happen, not really. Regulus would sit on James’ lap anyway. It doesn’t matter what he does- It doesn’t matter how drunk he gets.
Nothing matters.
It’s easier to look at them in the dark. They are barely anything more than moon-lit silhouettes which grants him the choice to ignore the fact it’s Regulus and James. He gets to imagine it’s someone else, it’s someone he doesn’t know, that it’s irrelevant to his life.
He shakes his head, reminding himself it’s not relevant. He never wanted to be with Regulus. He didn’t.
So why does it suddenly make sense to Barty? Why does it make sense that people in books always want to get shitfaced and they drink till they vomit? He certainly feels the need to do it. To black out, not to remember the night.
He might have had a chance once, but it’s gone. And he’s well aware. He knows James will make Regulus happier than he ever could, but fuck it hurts.
Barty finishes the last cigarette of the pack and heads inside, feeling too odd looking at James and Regulus without Evan by his side.
The two of them come stumbling inside just a few minutes later holding each other’s hand. Regulus shines the way he always does, managing to be the brightest person in the room without being the loudest.
James tells him something and they part their ways. Regulus sits down next to Barty so close their knees touch. He gives him a warm smile, takes Barty’s beer and sips at it. Barty wants to scowl at him, tell him to fuck off, but he doesn’t. First of all, that would be mean and he never particularly likes being mean to Regulus. And second of all, it would look as if he cared. He doesn’t.
Nothing matters.
They play some stupid board game which consists of Evan, who seems to understans the mechanics, picking hexagones on the board only for Pandora to ask them an odd riddle they are supposed to answer within a minute.
Dorcas and Marlene play against them (Barty has figured that much) but they seem to be absolutely hopeless at solving the riddles. Evan and him are winning - at least Barty thinks they are considering the smug expression on Evan’s face - but Barty can’t take credit for it, he’s too preoccupied looking at Regulus and trying not to be too obvious.
Why is he looking anyway?
Regulus never acknowledges it. Barty is not sure what the “it” is, but he sure as hell won’t be bringing it up. He’s ready to ignore it till the day he dies. Whatever there was, it’s dead now.
Regulus kicks him under the table playfully, setting a rhythm to his gentle nudges. Barty reciprocates the movement, their shoes hitting each other lightly.
And for one selfish moment Barty is thrilled Regulus is paying him attention.
But then he shakes his head internally, scolding himself for that stupid thought. Of course he pays you attention, he’s your best friend, you idiot. Though their friendship doesn’t seem to matter to Barty anymore.
“We ran out of crisps,” James points out mournfully. He joined them about five minutes ago, but he’s being annoying already. Barty feels like rolling his eyes at him, how old is this guy? Four?
Regulus smiles brightly, leaning towards James and giving him a peck on the cheek. “I’ll bring you some more. Barty, you’re coming with me?”
Barty wants to tell him that no, he won’t drag his ass down to the kitchen just because James feels like getting crisps. He won’t do that for him. But the thing is; this gives him some time alone with Regulus. All alone in the empty halls just the two of them.
So Barty gets up and follows Regulus through the portrait. That’s what he always does, he follows Regulus. The boy seems to be tipsier than Barty, there is lightness in his steps, a soft smile on his lips, eyes hazy.
What would he do if Barty slapped him?
Perhaps he would wake up from this ridiculous trance, he would snap out of it. He would say he doesn’t like James. He doesn’t fancy some Gryffindor lad. He doesn’t like anyone in that way.
“Since when do you wear polo necks?” Barty blurts out, desperate for something to talk about. Anything other than the quiet which doesn’t seem to phase Regulus - it never does, he can stay silent for weeks when it comes to it - but for Barty it’s tortrue, especially when he has too many things on his mind.
“Oh, I just wanted to hide my neck,” Regulus looks at him pointedly, blush covering his cheeks.
“Why-? Oh.”
Oh.
It doesn’t matter.
“Merlin Reg, are we thirteen?” This time Barty rolls his eyes for real. “You don’t have to hide a fucking hickey.” He doesn’t use the word love bite because if he did, he would probably vomit, a fucking nasty word if you asked him.
Why is he getting so riled up over this? Why would it matter?
Regulus doesn’t seem to find his behaviour odd, though alcohol may be the cause of that. He just shrugs, a small smile resting on his lips. Those pretty pink lips of his.
Barty can’t stop the train of thoughts anymore. Regulus pressed against the wall of the hall. Baring his neck and letting Barty bite his skin where James left a bruise. He would make one extra for good measure.
“James has his own room, you know?” Regulus says matter-of-factly.
Barty grits his teeth. “Unfortunately no, I didn’t know that.”
Where did the real Regulus go? Why is he acting like this?
Why does it matter?
“He does.” Regulus is more drunk than Barty initially thought. There is a malicious voice in his head telling him to leave Regulus in the middle of the hall. To let him find his way to the kitchen and back all the way up to the Gryffindor common room on his own. To let James deal with him since he’s his boyfriend now.
Doesn’t matter.
“Brilliant.”
“I think he wants to wait for me to be sixteen, though,” Regulus adds unhelpfully.
It doesn’t matter.
“Since when do you care about sex anyway?” Barty doesn’t care that his voice is full of venom and his expression is not friendly at all anymore. Regulus is too drunk to remember it anyway, so what is the point of being nice?
“I don’t.”
“Sure.”
“I really don’t, I just slept over in his dorm.”
It doesn’t fucking matter.
“Cool.”
Regulus stops to look at him for a second, but then he starts walking again, perhaps too drunk to conclude anything. Perhaps too drunk to remember what he was looking for in the first place.
Barty hates this.
—
He spends the following two days avoiding Regulus, giving him the silent treatment. He wonders what he could do to make the nasty feeling in his chest disappear. The first thing he thought of was telling Sirius, but he seems to know about the relation- whatever Regulus and James have, so there is no point in doing that.
Barty is stuck thinking about writing to Regulus' mother. She would definitely put an end to this nonsense, she would get rid of James. She would solve it.
“What the fuck are you thinking about?” Evan asks splayed on his own bed, watching Barty curiously.
Barty freezes for a second, wondering whether Evan can read minds.
“Nothing,” he blurts out hurriedly and lowers his gaze back to the potion textbook in front of him.
“This is not your ‘not thinking about anything’ expression.”
“Not thinking,” Barty knocks on his forehead, creating a dull sound. “Do you hear that? It’s empty.”
“Bulshit,” Evan mutters but doesn’t ask any more questions and gets back to his own DADA essay.
Silence fills the room for a minute, they are both quiet when-
“What would Ms Black do if she knew about them?”
Evan shoots him a look that could kill. “Don’t you dare.”
“I mean, she’ll find out sooner or later, so the question is what will she do when she finds out about them,” Barty corrects his previous statement.
“Regulus won’t forgive you.”
“I’m not doing anything!”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“I’m not thinking about it!”
“Obviously, you are,” Evan yells, but his mouth snaps shut when the door of their dorm opens.
It’s Regulus, standing there completely oblivious to their prior conversation. “You might want to keep it quiet unless you feel like giving everyone a show. You’re quite loud, Evan.”
Evan huffs, shoots Barty one last warning look and goes back to his homework.
Regulus only says he’s meeting James in the library with a dumb smile on his face. Barty feels the urgent need to slap him again. He’s so done with him.
It’s a relief when Regulus leaves the room and Barty doesn’t have to look at him anymore.
Is this what it feels like to hate someone?
—
Barty can’t lie, the Gryffindor parties are quite nice, much warmer and more cosy than the ones Slytherins throw in their common room but wild nonetheless. He’s having a good time, dancing with Dorcas and Pandora, laughing and not caring about the upcoming exams. Life is good and he doesn’t care.
He never cares.
Just as he falls onto one of the couches, James comes running to him, an odd expression on his face. “Do we have bad blood?” He asks, but Barty does nothing but stare at him in surprise. No one has ever asked him this question. Especially not a pure-blood using these exact words.
Everyone is content casually hating each other. Apparently, James Potter is not.
“What?” Barty has to make sure he heard him properly.
“Do you hate me?” James asks again and Barty finally recognises the emotion in his eyes, it’s desperation. Briefly, Barty wonders if James has ever been thoroughly hated by anyone in his entire life. Snape crosses his mind, but the feeling is mutual in his case, so it barely counts.
“I don’t,” Barty says automatically and realises it’s the truth. Sure, he wants James gone and he wishes James was never born, but he doesn’t hate him. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know,” James says quickly, far too quickly.
Well this could be fun. “Do you want to talk about it somewhere quiet?”
James nods eagerly and then they leave the common room heading to James’ room. Thank God it’s empty. One of the windows is open wide, letting the cool air of November night seep through the room- for some reason Barty expected the Gryffindor dorms to be warm. Barty sits down on James’ bed without waiting to be told to do so. James follows him swiftly.
“Why did you think I hated you?”
James bites his lower lip. “I still feel like you hate me a bit.”
“I don’t.”
“Okay.”
Barty has never seen James this silent in his entire life. “So?”
“Because of Regulus, because you like him.”
Barty shakes his head so fast it hurts. “I don’t. I don’t care. He can date whoever he wants.”
It doesn’t matter.
James sees through him in a second even though he’s pretty drunk.
Barty shrugs. “Look, I really couldn’t care less. Have we snogged? Yes. And it was nice, it really was, but look at him, with all the shit in his head I doubt he’d be able to keep a steady relationship.” It’s mostly true. Whatever happens at Grimauld’s place leaves Regulus with an odd view on relationships. The last clause is just Barty being mean on purpose though, hoping no one gets Regulus if he can’t have him.
It doesn’t really matter, Barty knows he’s not a good person.
“Oh,” James makes a small noise as if Barty had told him Santa is not real. He looks a bit like a pup that has been kicked.
Barty doesn’t care if he hurts James, so he puts more salt into the wound.
“I really hope it works out for you,” he falls onto his back making himself comfortable. “But I wouldn’t get my hopes too high, Regulus really doesn’t mean to fuck things up but it’s the way he is.”
James chuckles, “you’re much nicer than I thought.”
Barty has a feeling he should tell James he’s very, very wrong about that, but he doesn’t and that perhaps makes him an even worse person. Whatever. He didn’t even say anything nice so if anything it’s kind of James’ fault for not seeing what a red flag Barty is.
“I’m still trying to figure out liking boys-” James blurts out suddenly.
How does this guy keep secrets? Why is he telling that to Barty of all people?
“Well, you like Regulus, so…” Barty is ready to punch James in the face if he says the wrong thing. There is the one thing he better not say.
“I do! I do, but I just can’t imagine- like being with someone who has a cock, you know? It’s like- if he were trans it would be so much easier.”
Sometimes Barty forgets - it’s probably what Regulus wants everyone to do - but then something like this reminds him most people have no clue. Barty won’t tell. This is not at all his business.
“James, relax for fuck’s sake, it’s much easier with blokes. You know what feels good, right?” he waits for James to nod. “Just do the same things you like, it’s that easy.”
James seems to have some sort of ground-shattering revelation.
“Merlin, why is it so fucking cold in here?” Barty complains and steals James’ duvet that he wraps around himself.
“Sirius messed up a spell and now I can’t close it,” James explains uninterestedly, which only serves as a reminder of how unpredictable the Gryffindors are. Barty would bet all his money it will drive Regulus insane in a month.
A shiver runs through James’ body so Barty graciously lets him under the duvet. Uncharacteristically kind of him if he can say so himself. “Have you never liked a boy before?”
There is a pause. “No, I don’t think I did. I’ve certainly never been with one. How do you even kiss a boy well?”
“You said you’re not exclusive, right?” Barty checks and James seems to know where this is going.
Just like that they are kissing, it’s not feverish, mostly curiosity bringing the best out of them. Barty doesn’t really know how you’re supposed to make out with someone properly, but he figured that as long as both of them enjoy it it should be alright.
He holds James’ face, his very pretty smooth face and looks him deep into his eyes once they part for a few seconds. James is a very good kiss in fact, so good Barty initiates the following one himself, physically getting into his lap this time.
There is something so magical about kissing, the way it brings you closer to a person, the proximity so intense, so warm and blurry. Barty bites James’ lower lip softly, playfully, before he rests his forehead against James’.
“You don’t have to worry about it, okay? I bet he’ll love the way you kiss.” There is a small painful feeling in his chest and his bitterness has not vanished completely just yet.
So he does what every sensible person would do and kisses James again just for the fun of it. He can convince himself he feels Regulus on James’ lips, his soft touch against Barty’s lips. James smiles into the kiss. This is the nicest thing Braty has felt in weeks.
They end up lying on James’ bed, James on his back with Barty nestling up against his body, pressing kisses onto each other’s face every once in a while. Hazily Barty thinks this will hurt once the alcohol is out of his system. But it doesn’t really matter.
Barty is used to hurting.
James falls asleep for a minute but Barty doesn’t move, not wanting this to be over. There is a soft click of the door and Peter comes in. Barty quickly considers his possibilities: he could pretend he’s beating James up, he could pretend he’s asleep or he could wave at Peter.
He ends up giving him an uncharacteristically small wave and lets his head fall back on James’ chest. Deep inside he hopes Peter will turn around, go straight to Regulus and tell him. He hopes Regulus will be furious.
He’s pretty sure they are not even friends anymore.
Peter gives him a once-over, not saying a thing as he walks to James’ wardrobe and takes a bottle of some muggle alcohol out of it. He seems to be intentionally looking anywhere but at Barty as he leaves the room as soon as possible.
That’s because Barty is not supposed to be there. But to be fair, neither is Regulus. This thought doesn’t make Barty feel less shitty.
He should get up.
“James,” he nudges the boy’s shoulder in order to wake him up.
James stirs, blinking rapidly in confusion. “Wha-?”
“I should be heading back down, do you want to come with me?” Barty feels the need to be gentle with James, especially now.
“Don’t go.” It’s barely a whisper.
What. The. Fuck.
“What?”
“I said I don’t want to go downstairs. I’m tired.” He does seem exhausted. Barty doesn’t think about the fact that his previous statement sounded nothing like this one.
He doesn’t think about it.
It doesn’t mean anything.
It doesn’t matter.
Barty decides to take care of James before he leaves the room. He helps him pull the duvet form under him and tucks him in. It’s so nice to take care of someone. Even more when the someone appreciates it this much in their drunk haze. He puts James’ glasses on his nightstand and places one last kiss on his forehead and whispers a soft Goodnight before he leaves the room.
Merlin.
What was that?